Perpetua's Rise
V, aka Papa V Perpetua, has ascended to the role of Papa in the Satanic Ministry and is generally not having the best time. Between memories of his upbringing in a church, the expectations of him from the clergy, fans and his boss, Frater Imperator, plus all of his other duties with performing and memorizing songs and…he feels like he's going to drown. Fortunately, not everyone in the Ministry wants to drag him under.
(Chapter Two) (Chapter Three) (Chapter Four) (Chapter Five) (Chapter Six)
Chapter One - Suffocating
Summary: V arrives at the Ministry and has an awkward family dinner with Copia and the Psaltarians. He dreams of his past in a different church and the moment he joined the Ministry.
Trigger Warnings: Mild blood, religious guilt/trauma, mentions of drowning/suffocating, brief misgendering (kind of unintentional), implied self harm, mentions of death/dying,
Notes: (Hi! This is only the second time I've shared any of my writing here so I'm very nervous. I also cross posted this to my new ao3 account so go check it out there if you wish :3)
Perpetua felt like he was drowning. It had hardly been a week or so since he had been selected by the Clergy to become the next Papa, and only 5 months since he learned of the Ministry’s existence at all, but it was already too much for him to handle. Between the expectation of memorising all of the previous Papa’s songs while performing his own, taking care of the ghouls, doing rituals and giving sermons, all while learning how the ministry worked and wrestling with every horrible contradictory feeling that festered inside him, Perpetua felt like he was going to collapse at any second. It was like someone was suffocating him from the inside, wringing his lungs of every last molecule of oxygen.
And as casual as Frater Imperator tried to seem, he clearly wasn’t ready to give up his title of Papa any time soon.
“And uhm- this will be your room.” Imperator motioned to an empty arched doorway that lead to a barren bedroom with only a bed, desk, chair, dresser and wardrobe pushed to one side, and a door to an ensuite bathroom on the other.
“It used to be the third Papa’s but he obviously has no use for it now he’s gone. We properly cleaned it and everything so no need to worry, aheh. I know it’s a bit uh,” Imperator motioned around the monotone room, “depressing, but I’m sure you can figure it out. You definitely seem to have a…” Another pause, this time Frater glanced back at Perpetua, giving his outfit a once-over. “…a good sense of style.”
Perpetua’s eyes dragged away from his new room, now looking at his boss.
“Yes. I’ll…I’ll sort it out.” He forced himself to stand up straighter, coughing slightly. Frater Imperator motioned for Perpetua to continue to follow him down the hallway. The two continued with awkward conversations, Perpetua staring down at the marbled tile floors of the Abbey and the purple trim of his cassock until they reached a small room off the side of the main chamber. Set up inside was a small set of dark wooden chairs and tables, candles flickering in the dark. Most of the chairs remained empty, pulled out from the table as if someone was sitting in them, but two were actually occupied. In the first, sitting just to the left of the head of the table, was an old man wearing a silky black suit, visibly holding hands with the person at the head, a woman about the same age, wearing similar all-black attire.
Frater Imperator grinned at the two, clearing his throat. “This is Marika Psaltarian and her husband Mr. Psaltarian, they’re pretty much my bosses, so, y’know, they’re yours too.” Imperator half-bowed towards the Psaltarians, who offered a polite wave and a smile respectively.
“Lovely to finally see you in person, Papa Perpetua.” Marika greeted warmly, shuffling slightly in her seat.
“Oh, please just call me Perpetua. No need to be too formal.” Perpetua went to sit at one of the chairs already pulled out, but Imperator guided him to the other end of the table across from Marika. Frater then turned to one of the empty seats, raising an eyebrow.
“Hm? What do you…no we haven’t yet, the man only just got passed that door, give him some time to- to adjust.” Imperator waved his hand dismissively, taking his seat next to Mr Psaltarian. The Psaltarians turned towards the chair as well, waiting for a reply that never came.
The trio chatted to the air for a while before looking back at Perpetua, who must’ve been making a face as Imperator snorted like a pig once he saw him.
“Ah, did Copia not explain?” Mr Psaltarian chuckled. “We have several ghosts that inhabit the ministry. Most of them are previous leaders or figureheads within the clergy that choose to stay and watch over the ministry. Make sure it doesn’t burn down and whatnot. They can’t be seen normally by humans, but through certain rituals they do become visible. Copia- Frater Imperator -myself and Marika have all completed this ritual and can thus see and chat to them. We planned to do that before dinner but obviously we ran into some unplanned difficulties.” He clarified, tapping his fingernails against the wood of the table.
“We should be able to get the ritual up and running either tomorrow or tonight. Depends on how you feel, Perpetua.” Marika added, giving him a reassuring grin.
Perpetua fiddled with his sleeves, avoiding staring at the invisible ghosts occupying the table. “I’d be happy to do it whenever is best for you.” He answered, partially distracted by his thoughts.
Copia went to add something but was disrupted by a pair of cheery members of the clergy entering the makeshift dining room, carrying a few plates piled with home-made dinner for everyone.
Most of the night was spent with the ghosts talking to Copia and the Psaltarians, leaving large patches of silence where Perpetua could only assume conversation was taking place. This dinner was meant to be celebrating Perpetua, but he already felt like an afterthought amongst the tight-knit group that ran the ministry. Occasionally Copia would relay a question one of the ghosts had, and Perpetua would give a relatively simple answer, just enough to sound interesting while not blabbering on and on about all of his secrets to potentially no-one.
Eventually all of the plates became empty, and it was decided that everyone should get an early rest. Perpetua said his goodbyes and left down the hall but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard Copia talking to the ghosts just around the corner.
“…no, no, I do think he’ll be a good Papa.”
“…”
“I’m just saying he seems a bit reserved compared to me. It’s a- uh- It’s a demanding role that requires someone with more flair. And so far he- he doesn’t seem like the type to be good on-stage. I mean- how is he even supposed to hold a mic with those uh- those claws?”
“…”
“No I’m not- I’m not trying to ‘cling on’! I am just trying to do what’s best for the ministry, like you told me to! My time is all gone, I know that much, but if the newest can’t keep up with what I achieved then the clergy and the fans-”
Perpetua went into a brisk power-walk down the hall, listening as Copia’s voice faded into whispered echoes. Once he was out of hearing range of Copia he let out a sigh of pure relief, shaking his hands like he was flinging off water droplets. Perpetua straightened up his robes and continued, looking for his new bedroom. On his way, Perpetua passed through a hall with paintings of important figures in the clergy and the ministry in general, with one wall having large portraits of each Papa side by side. At least a dozen were covered by black fabric or simply faded enough to be unrecognisable.
The first one that was actually discernible was still pretty old, its paint starting to fade in certain spots, but the figure painted on it was still undoubtedly a Papa, skull paint and all. They seemed more relaxed in the painting than Perpetua had seen anyone in the ministry be, an almost flirty smirk painted across their face, dressed in only casual get-up as opposed to the intricate robes every other Papa was expected to don. The next two portraits seemed much more recent, and their subjects held a kind of contempt and seriousness that could be felt from just a glance, all unamused scowls and relatively plain vestments. The third one along the wall seemed more relaxed, like the first, yet still dedicated like the past two, but with the faintest twinkle in his eyes that made him seem a bit more mischievous than his brooding predecessors. Obviously, last on the wall was Copia in his full regalia, dark hues and satanic imagery contrasting the blindingly white face paint and ever so slight smirk Perpetua swore he had. A spot was already marked out for Perpetua by a plaque with his name on in bold lettering, but a large amount of space was still left in the hall, blank plaques stamped in a line, enough for at least 20 other portraits. Hesitantly, his fingers grazed his own title engraved into the plaque as he stared at the empty spots, before picking himself up and continuing back down to his room.
Eventually, Perpetua found his bedroom, tucked in the wings of the ministry’s building and only a few doors away from Copia’s. He retreated into the bathroom and practically tore off the metallic mask that covered the top half of his face, leaving it on the bathroom counter haphazardly. While scavenging under the sink Perpetua noticed at least 4 packs of make-up removing wipes and a few ornate glass jars of face paint pushed into the corner, with a blue sticky note reading ‘Courtesy of the Clergy’ stuck on the jar of black face paint. Perpetua moved a pack and the two jars onto the countertop for later and began washing off the black and white paint that coated his face like a layer of mud caked over hiking boots. Slowly, the skull painted on his face dripped off, staining the water grey, and revealing Perpetua’s pale, freckled skin hidden underneath. After spinning around he spotted a navy-blue towel hanging up by the shower, grabbing it and patting it across his face until every droplet left from the wash was absorbed. He left the towel to hang up to dry on a silver towel rack, remembering to grab his mask on the way out, and exited the bathroom much calmer then he went in. Now the only thing left to shed before resting were his overly complicated robes.
It took at least half an hour to remove every piece of jewellery and bedazzled grucifix alone, Perpetua placing them down on the top of the dresser after wiping a stubborn layer of dust from the polished surface. It took even longer to tug off every purple, silver, and black garment without tearing them in two. By the time Perpetua had hung the full outfit in the wardrobe the moon was almost halfway through its journey for the night, constellations visibly glittering through the bedroom window in the inky black sky.
Perpetua sifted through one of two bags of belongings he had, finding a pair of unoffensive cream-coloured pyjamas buried at the bottom of a black backpack. The fabric was loose and a bit worn, feint blood stains on the hem of the shirt and the ends of the sleeves, but they served their purpose just fine. His eyes wandered away once he began buttoning up the shirt, noticing a mirror built into the door to the wardrobe. Like everything else in the room it was coated with dust and littered with cracks, showcasing both the ageing and neglect the room had been subjected to since the previous owner kicked the bucket. Perpetua expected to see the visage of Papa V staring back through the grime. Fifth modern ruler of the ministry, a herald for the dark end times, servant of Lucifer himself and a shining pillar of distorted light for all those deemed unholy to look up to.
But Perpetua only saw himself staring back.
His tired, unkempt, rather pitiful self.
Finally, he dragged himself into bed, falling soundly asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
-=+=-
“I’m deeply sorry, young lamb, but we simply cannot have such a sinful person amongst the congregation. You’re- my apologies- I mean- it’s too dangerous to have such ideals spreading amongst the flock, tempting others to fall towards Satan’s will. If not even exorcisms or Father DeFroque’s efforts could cleanse your soul…I’m sure you understand.” Father Bartholemew stood framed by the stained-glass window behind him, multicoloured light from the mid-day sun shining over him and the church’s floor. “We will be very happy to give you a day to pack up and find somewhere suitable to go. After that we will remove you from the church and you will be forbidden from returning.”
“But Father, please, I-”
“You will not be allowed to join any services in the meantime, or tonight’s dinner, for the safety of our congregation. Goodbye, lamb.” Bartholemew turned heel and silently walked away, leaving V alone amongst the empty pews.
He stared up in disbelief at the window, depicting Jesus sitting amongst a flock of sheep. A black sheep with deformed horns was sitting in his arms, curled up close and being petted on the nose. The church had always sung its own praises about how it welcomed the shunned. But of course they had standards, they wouldn’t dream of welcoming anyone who’s soul had been touched by Satan in the slightest. They needed to protect their people, after all. V closed his eyes and slowed his breathing until the tears threatening him faded away. He turned the other way and fled to his dorm, locking the creaking door behind him with a click. Slowly, V walked to his bed, tugged the sheets off, and with a thud, collapsed into the mattress, curling up under the remaining sheets that clung on. His tears came back and soon V was a sobbing wreck. Between his wails and hiccups he prayed, crying out to God for some explanation, some scrap of forgiveness, some kind of divine guidance.
But it all fell on deaf ears.
V’s sobs persisted through the afternoon until his throat and eyes were drier than a never-ending desert and he physically couldn’t shed another tear. Lying there in silence only made his fear bubble up more and more, practically suffocating him from the inside out. He’d spent his whole life in the church- of course there were practically an infinite number of others in America he could go to -but the concept of ‘normal life’ was so far out of V’s mind it might as well have been on the moon. Where could he go- what place would even accept someone as corrupted as him? He was a lost cause, and God would probably smite him the second he was out of church. Or at least that was what V believed would happen the next day.
-=-
V stood at the main set of steps leading out of the church, holding a small carry-on bag and wearing a slightly larger backpack. Bartholemew was standing in the doorway, looking down at him with something resembling pity.
“I sincerely hope your soul can be purified, Vivian.”
V had forgotten how much discomfort his own name gave him. He had forgotten when he started calling himself V in his head or when he began referring to himself as a man. Or when Vivian became someone he couldn’t stand being.
“Perhaps then you can mingle amongst the congregation once more. Until that day comes you must stay far away. Again, I’m sure you understand why. I wish you all the best. Goodbye.” The doors slammed shut in V’s face, the feint clicks of a lock quickly following. V clutched his bag closer and slowly walked away, starting down a cracked pavement pathway leading to God-knows-where. At least V hadn’t been unceremoniously killed by Him yet.
The sun started to dip below the horizon by the time V had reached a major city, the pale sky turning into deep blacks and oranges. He’d stopped a few times, mostly to rest or to dig into the food and water that had been packed for him, but the day had largely been spent walking endlessly down pathways close to a major road. At some point the buildings became taller and packed together like sardines in a can, neon lights starting to flick on and billboards screaming their advertisements in V’s unwilling face. V kept his head down, his eyes darting between everything that moved. Goodness, it was so loud compared to the smaller town his- no- the Church was in. V picked up the pace and sped through a growing crowd of people that milled about, occasionally bumping into them, apologising, and speeding back up. The pathways turned into a gravel track, the skyscrapers replaced by stubby brick walls covered in twirling vines of ivy. Soon, he reached a slightly quieter spot, a small bench installed across from an empty stone fountain covered in unnaturally yellow caution tape. V set down his bags onto the makeshift pavement and held his face in his hands.
“Oh goodness gracious- what have I done…?” He asked himself wearily, feeling the tears from the night before start prickling his eyes once again. But before he could start wailing, a polite but subtly playful voice called out to him.
“Hello there! It’s much nicer inside the Ministry, we’re actually about to have a communal dinner. Why are you out here when the mosquitoes are going to start eating you alive any minute now?”
V whipped his head around to the source of the voice and was met with a young- man? Woman? V wasn’t sure -standing next to the bench, looking down at him with a half-joking-half-confused expression. They wore a uniform of some kind; a vest, a long sleeve shirt with frilly cuffs, dress pants, and thigh-high boots, each garment in a slight variation of black, with gold buckles and accents to break up the void of colour. Their hair was long and deep brown, flowing down past their shoulders in expertly done braids with stray hairs poking out rebelliously along the way. V shook himself out of staring, blinking rapidly and nervously glancing away.
“My apologies, I didn’t know this was a holy place. I-I don’t want to bother you I can go-” V scooped up his bags and went to dash back out but the other person stepped in front of him.
“Oh- you don’t need to apologise at all, you can stay.” The person stopped V with a reassuring smile. “The Ministry is open to all as a safe place, it would be bizarre to deny someone entry because they didn’t know we were a church. I’m Moss, by the way.” Moss introduced themself with a welcoming tone, but V was only panicking more.
Oh no- oh goodness- it’s a church. Of course it’s a church. I’m going to hurt everyone in there if I go in. I’m going to corrupt them all like Father Bartholemew said I would. I can’t go in, I’m a monster-
“Lucifer bellow- are you okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to offend or hurt you or anything! Do you need a tissue? Should I go?” Moss’s panic made V realise he had started crying, fat tears dripping down his cheeks and onto his shirt.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…I can’t…I don’t want to…I’ll hurt someone if I go in.” He stammered through his tears, wiping them away with the back of his hand. “I’m a sinner, I can’t go into a church…”
“That’s…not an issue with us, I can assure you.” They quickly explained. “We tend to take a very different approach to sinning in our Church compared to others. There’s people inside who can explain it better than me. Even then, I’m sure everyone would be very happy to help you get rid of those sins if that’s what you truly want.”
“Really?” V sniffled, glancing at the Church’s main building. “No one will judge me…?”
“Not at all. All of us are sinners just trying to be good people. You’ll fit right in.” They started walking up to the front entrance, smiling wider than a canyon. The day had fully turned to night, an orange glow seeping out of the Ministry’s window and tempting V with the idea of his dreams of warmth and comfort being fulfilled.
He hesitated.
V didn’t have a place to stay, and he definitely couldn’t afford a hotel. Plus this ministry was seemingly the safest place for someone as potentially harmful as him.
V took a deep breath, wiping the last remnants of his tears from his freckled cheeks, and followed Moss into the ministry.
-=+=-
Bright morning light was shining into Perpetua’s eyes, rudely awakening him at an obscenely early hour. His blankets were tossed halfway across the bed, only a thin sheet covering his body which was curled up in a fetal position. Groggily, Perpetua dragged himself out of bed and haphazardly put on his mask, trudging out down the hall to the communal kitchens.
Thankfully, no-one had decided to get an early breakfast so Perpetua was left alone to make himself some tea and properly wake up. He grabbed a random teabag from a small organiser and filled the kettle with water, leaving it to boil on the stove. He still remembered the way he was taught to make tea by Sister Jane, the way she’d give thanks to the Lord before passing it over to a 10-year-old V, or how all of the teabags had little bible verses stamped on the tags- but she and that church were long out of his life, he hastily reminded himself. Perpetua was never going to go back, and he was certainly never pray to the same God he used to. The kettle started shrilly whistling as Perpetua stopped reminiscing, drawing his attention back to the present. Diligently, Perpetua made his cup of tea, which turned out to be a calming flavour he certainly could use, adding just a bit more milk and sugar than would be considered reasonable. Perpetua looked out of the kitchen through a nearby window, out to the gardens and the Ghoul dens nestled in the corner of the ministry’s grounds. It was an almost idyllic morning, and it would stay that way for quite some time until the rest of the ministry also dragged themselves up and out of their rooms. Sloth was a sin after all.
Perpetua remained staring out into the slowly saturating sky, sipping his tea until he heard the dampened footsteps and clicking of claws that would unmistakably be a ghoul rounding the corner. Glancing away from the gardens, Perpetua was met with a rather dishevelled Ghoul in short pyjamas, staring at him unenthusiastically. The ghoul was a yellowish orange, covered in tiny rough scales and with long spiked ears, a sign that they were a fire ghoul. However, their fingers were webbed, their tail was long and split into fins, and their horns were thin, smooth and slightly curved, all traits of a water ghoul. Perpetua hadn’t seen too much of the ghouls he was supposed to perform with in the flesh, but he recognised them as Dewdrop instantly. Dewdrop huffed quietly, a plume of pale grey smoke curling out from his nostrils, and motioned to the coffee maker behind Perpetua, who quickly shuffled out of the way in response.
“Ah- I’m sorry for blocking the way- would you like me to get anything? Boil a kettle? I still have the milk and sugar out do you-”
“No need.” Dew cut him off bluntly, shoving past him to grab a mug and flick on the boxy metal machine.
“Of course, Dewdrop. That is who you are?” Perpetua inquired as he moved to stand behind the kitchen island.
“Yeah.”
“Good to know. You know, I’ve seen almost all of your performances and you’re absolutely amazing!”
“Uh-huh.”
“I really admire your skills, it’s an honour to work and perform with you, and of course the other ghouls.”
“Mhm.”
“I know you are very close to Papa Emer- Frater Imperator, so I won’t hold it against you if you’re a bit hesitant to work with me- I know I would be in your situation, especially since Era 4 was so long and Frater has skills that I can only dream of having. All of you are so talented it’s unbelievable.”
“Thanks.”
“I can’t wait for our touring to begin. Hopefully by then I’ll be able to smile properly, aheh. Oh- we have a shoot for another music video next week. It’s a lot more involved than the last one but that just means it will be more fun!”
“Cool.”
“Anyways, I should be going. I’ll let you make your coffee. Have an amazing morning.” Perpetua bowed to Dewdrop and scurried back to his room, clutching his mug to his chest.
He seemed to like me! What an honour! I must be doing something right then- Maybe the other ghouls will like me as well!
Perpetua didn’t stop himself from smiling, his crooked, pointed teeth glinting in the morning light. Everything seemed to be going much better than how he assumed it would. Nothing could drag Perpetua down. At least not anything he was aware of.